


Quickening Sickness (Or, A Lesson in Scamming Your Negligent Lover)

by rhiannonhero



Category: Highlander
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhiannonhero/pseuds/rhiannonhero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This silly thing was written for Pun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quickening Sickness (Or, A Lesson in Scamming Your Negligent Lover)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pun/gifts).



> Written Fall 2003 and originally posted on my site and livejournal. Coding issues due to import from my site.

"Methos?"

Duncan stared at Methos sprawled in Duncan's bed shivering under  
the covers. Methos didn't move, didn't even open his eyes.

"Methos? Is something wrong?"

Again Duncan was greeted with silence, but the shivering increased  
exponentially until Methos was literally convulsing. Duncan sat  
down on the bed next to him gingerly touching him, trying to soothe  
the old man out of whatever bad dream he must be having.

"Shhh. It's okay, Methos. Wake up. Shhh."

Gold eyes slitted open and then flew wide. They were rather glassy  
and Methos seemed to be unnaturally warm, heat radiating from him  
even as he shivered.

"Mac? Mac is that you?"

"Methos? What's wrong? What's going on? Are you okay?"

Methos took a wheezy breath and shook his head. Duncan ran his hand  
over Methos' sweaty forehead and leaned over, concern quickening  
his pulse.

"Tell me. How can I help you? What's happening?"

"Can't you see? I'm sick." Methos whispered huskily.

Mac frowned. Sick? Immortals didn't get sick. Mac's bullshit meter  
chimed. "What are you playing at, Methos?"

Methos' teeth chattered and he shook his head. "N-n-nothing. Leave  
it to you to mistrust m-m-me even as I l-lay possibly dying. And  
to think I thought you might want to h-help."

Mac narrowed his eyes and stared at Methos shaking in bed.

Methos coughed and groaned. "S-s-seriously, Mac. It's Quickening  
Sickness. Haven't you h-heard of it?"

Mac's bullshit meter exploded.

Methos continued, teeth chattering less. "It sometimes happens to  
ancients. I th-thought I'd avoided it." He shivered violently and  
moaned, throwing his head back. "Take one too many Quickenings and  
your body can't ass-assimilate it. I th-think that last one put  
me over the edge."

Despite Mac's bullshit meter being flung in pieces all across the  
galaxy from detecting the depths Methos was wading in, he hesitated  
to call Methos on the obvious lie.

Quickening sickness--pfft. He'd have heard of such a thing before  
now if it were true at all. What kind of idiot did the old fool  
take him for? Still, he was curious about why Methos was perpetrating  
such a scam. Was it a simple practical joke? Or was there more to  
it than that?

Duncan smoothed a hand over Methos' forehead and leaned over to  
kiss it softly. Then he stood up. "Okay, I'm going to get a cool,  
wet cloth for your head. You feel feverish. I'll be right back."

"Hurry. I might not have much time left."

Mac refrained, just barely, from rolling his eyes and ducked into  
the bathroom, snagging his cell phone on the way. As he shut the  
door, he quickly dialed Joe and then turned to the linen closet  
for wash cloths.

"Dawson, here."

"Joe. Good. I'm glad I got you."

"MacLeod? What's up? What can I do for you?"

"Well, it's Adam."

"Methos?"

"Yeah." Mac switched the phone to his other ear and whispered as  
he wet the cloth in the sink. "I came home from the meetings I had  
with the contract laborers for the new antiques store and found  
him in the bed. He's hot, sweaty and shivering."

"Listen, Mac, whatever you did to get him that way, I don't need  
to know. Why are you telling me for Christsakes?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "Joe, it isn't like that. He claims he's sick.  
Says he's got Quickening Sickness."

Joe chuckled. "Quickening Sickness?"

"Yeah--ever heard of it?"

"Nope. He's pulling your leg, buddy. Good one, too."

"Yeah. I figured. But, why? I mean, he's out there telling me that  
he could die from this thing. If I believed him I would be pretty  
upset, don't you think? Why would he want to upset me like that?"

"You're asking me?"

"Joe--he talks to you. Come on. Help an old idiot like me out. What's  
he up to?"

"Besides making you the butt of a not-so-elaborate joke? Well--you  
*have* been awfully busy lately, Mac."

"I've had a lot going on, what with the new store, Richie starting  
school again, Amanda getting arrested, several Watchers going bad,  
moving out of Paris and selling the barge--"

"I'm not saying that you haven't been busy with good reason. I'm  
just saying you've been busy." Joe sighed. "Look--I see Methos every  
night. He comes in here, he has a few beers, he chats me up with  
bullshit stories for an hour or so and then he goes home to you.  
Lately, Mac, he's been here hours on end and looking pretty miserable,  
too."

"So you're saying that Methos is doing this just to get attention?"

Mac could hear Joe's shrug. "I don't know. But it's worth thinking  
about."

"Thanks, Joe. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Mac. And, good luck."

Mac disconnected the phone and wet the wash cloth under the cold  
tap again, wringing it out before stepping back out to the bedroom.

Methos groaned and rolled around on the bed dramatically. "What  
took you so long? I thought I would die and never see your face  
again."

Mac sat down on the bed and smiled tenderly. "Did you now? Missed  
me that much, huh?"

Methos coughed and faked a sniffle, closing his eyes and doing a  
damn good job of looking pathetic. Mac lay down on the bed next  
to Methos, raising up on his elbow to apply the wet cloth to Methos'  
head.

Methos shivered, this time in obvious pleasure, and murmured, "Oh.  
Now that's nice, Mac. That's nice."

"Glad you enjoy it." Mac kissed the damp forehead again. Methos  
purred and shifted to a more comfortable position. "So, tell me,  
Methos. Is there no cure? Am I destined to lose you to this Quickening  
Sickness?"

Methos slit his eyes open again and observed Mac warily. "Oh, so  
now you believe me."

Mac shrugged. "Just tell me there's a cure, Methos. I don't want  
to go on without you."

Methos opened his eyes fully and licked his lips. "Stop with the  
melodrama, Mac. You're spoiling the whole thing."

"What am I supposed to do? What did you want to have happen?"

Methos moaned and coughed again. "I'm dying here, Mac, and you aren't  
doing a damn thing to help me!"

Mac murmured in Methos' ear. "Tell me. Tell me what to do."

"Make me some soup. I think that chicken noodle is good for Quickening  
Sickness."

Mac blinked. Okay. So--apparently this wasn't a desperate cry for  
sex. Interesting.

"Okay. What else?"

"Take your clothes off and suck my cock."

Okay. Then again, maybe it was.

"Suck your cock?"

"Yes. See, Quickening Sickness can possibly be cured if a man releases  
some of his essence via ejaculation and I'm just too sick to bring  
myself off."

Mac leaned in and pressed his face to Methos' neck to hide his smile.  
"Okay. So, which first? Soup or suck?"

Methos flung the covers back to reveal his long, lean, naked body  
and a very hard cock. "Suck."

Mac noticed the strategically placed heating pads that had been  
producing Methos' sweaty, clammy symptoms.

"Mac?"

"Yes?"

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."

Mac rolled his eyes and began to unbutton his shirt. Methos watched  
avidly as Mac exposed more and more skin.

"Leave the pants on. Hurry. I could die. Quickening Sickness is  
known to be a very rapid death if allowed to set in."

Mac peeled his shirt off and crawled between Methos' spread thighs.  
He nuzzled the wiry, dark hairs at the base of Methos' cock and  
mouthed the tightening balls.

"Mac, come on. _Dying_ here. Remember? Gods, you'd think  
you had years to make me come."

Mac chuckled against the sweet skin and then lifted up to tongue  
the head of Methos' cock and suck it in quickly. He shifted to get  
a better angle and the tight grip of his hair in Methos' strong  
hands guided him to a rhythm that Mac knew would have Methos coming  
fast.

"Mac, Mac, Mac--" Methos groaned his name over and over, pumping  
his hips and limbs jerking. "Now, now, now---"

Mac swallowed and took Methos deeper than before, not surprised  
to hear the howl and feel his hair being pulled cruelly just before  
come filled his mouth. He sucked until Methos twitched under his  
hands and he pulled away, leaning up for a wet, slow kiss.

Sighing as Methos petted his hair, Mac rested his forehead on Methos'  
chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"That was good, Mac. I think that you probably staved off the onset  
of coma, which was the next stage of the illness. Still, I think  
you'll have to repeat this particular technique again a little later  
just to be safe."

Mac thrust against Methos' hip. "And does the cure for Quickening  
Sickness include swallowing the essence of a healthy immortal?"

Methos hummed for a moment. "Yes. Why yes it does. But I think that  
comes after the chicken soup."

Mac sighed heavily and struggled to a sitting position. "You're  
evil."

"I know. That's why they called me 'Death'." Methos grew deadly  
serious and growled, "Soup. Now."

Mac recognized the Death voice and chuckled. Right. Like that was  
going to intimidate him. Still, he found himself rising from the  
bed and heading into the kitchen. If his old man needed some TLC,  
he was just the fool to give it; his own pleasure could wait.

"Oh, and Mac?"

"Yes?"

"None of that wretched canned stuff. I want it from scratch."

Yes.

Yes, of course he did.

  
THE END 


End file.
